


Picture Perfect (Klance Oneshot)

by eagle_feather_2014



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: First Meetings, Fluff, Innocent, M/M, Mild Language, Photography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 11:32:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17161217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eagle_feather_2014/pseuds/eagle_feather_2014





	Picture Perfect (Klance Oneshot)

The lights of the city sparkled and danced against the dark of the night, lighting up streets and houses as people turned in for the evening. His worn sneakers scraped along the brick of the old park’s walkways, his cold hands wrapped firmly around his camera, muscles trained and ready to take the perfect shot. Restlessness had led him here, but the beauty of the light playing off the shadows of trees and park benches had held him captive for much longer than just a quick walk to decompress. The rubber padding his viewfinder was icy on his rosy red cheek as he lifted the camera and looked through his lens at a lone pair walking beneath a streetlight. A young adult male and a slightly older male companion, dressed in comfortable clothes, a worn backpack slung on the shoulder of the younger. The light played off their silhouettes beautifully and Lance couldn’t let a shot like this pass him by. A few minor, quick adjustments before the press of a well-trained finger on the shutter release button and it was a moment captured for forever.  
He moved his camera down from his face and his breath stilled at the image glowing back up at him from his camera’s preview.  
It was the kind of shot he’d only dreamed of accomplishing. So intimate and yet so foreign and mysterious. It made the viewer feel included and simultaneously excluded from the moment the two were sharing.  
The old street, made of cobble and recently poured asphalt, was illuminated by the streetlight before stretching out into an inky expanse of the road, going from familiar to indistinguishable the further from the light you looked. The sidewalk path the pair stood on had charming cracks in bricks and small sprouts of plant life finding their way from between the cement barricades of manmade imprisonment. Gravel scattered here and there on the paths, tracked over by the soles of the park’s many visitors over many years. The nearby grass that the cement foundation the light-post sprouted from was lush and overrun with gorgeous little clover flowers and leaves, blurred but recognizable by the warring effects of light and dark playing on them. The light-post stood tall and strong against a slight breeze, unmoved by the force that swept the plants and silhouettes’ hair to the side in a swaying song of nature. The old light cover held an unseen bulb that cast a bright beam of light down onto the scene that illuminated everything to perfection.  
The silhouettes were ethereal in their posture and outcome. The taller, older male held himself high, a firm sureness about him, braced easily against the cold in a denim jacket, the fabric texture illuminated by the light and the colors dimmed deeply by the shadows. His shaved cut rose from the back of his neck until the front where it stopped to allow a small patch of long locks to spill from the shaven plains. The hair was bicolored and while the shadows didn’t allow the colors to be seen, the light’s halo of illumination provided just enough orange light to create a distinguishable difference. His hands rested in his jacket pockets and he looked at the other with a face full of shadows that hid his identity but failed to shield the familiar fondness that his face held.  
Lance’s breath left him as he looked at the smaller figure in his photograph. The silhouette of this stranger, smaller and less sure, was given a feeling of searching and being lost unto the viewer. His ragged mullet and rough jeans with holes and leather jacket all contributed to a feeling of wayward rebellion from this figure, the cherry on top being the fingerless gloves and rugged and worn backpack slung onto one shoulder. The opposing feelings of the two created a dichotomy akin to that of a father and a struggling child.  
With every piece of this perfect scene captured into code on his SD card, Lance was giddy and elated when he finally looked up from the glory displayed on his screen and saw the younger of the figures stalking towards him. His heart stuttered. Anger burned in the stranger’s eyes and this guy looked like he could beat Lance to a pulp if he so desired. “Hey! What the fuck, man?!” His voice was rough and aggressively barked out as he approached, and Lance felt himself take an involuntary step back. Many people did not like their photograph taken, some were paranoid, camera shy, or just plain not alright with strangers having images of them beyond their control, and this guy was not the first that Lance had been afraid may jump him for the act of snapping a candid, unawares shot.  
Lance went to open his mouth when the guy finally approached and snatched the camera from his hands, jerking his neck forward due to the security lanyard resting around his neck in connection to the device. “What the fuck are you after, huh? Identity theft? Blackmail? Pictures to sell to perverts?”  
So he was paranoid.  
Lance pulled the camera back and straightened up, fishing a business-card from his jacket pocket. “I’m a professional photographer looking for good pictures to display in an upcoming gallery, excuse you.” He watched as the guy looked over the little piece of card stock with scrutiny, glancing up at him from time to time as if he would catch a on his face that would imply lies. “My name is Lance McClain, and I would very much appreciate it if you didn’t just manhandle my incredibly expensive camera like a limp dick.” The second figure was approaching slowly behind the other.  
“What do you want with a picture if us? Show me it!” Lance rolled his eyes and pulled up the preview, the image fairly anonymous and innocent. This guy was a piece of work. If Lance had to make a bet, he’s say conspiracy theorist or follower. Sorry dude, no lizard people or aliens or government control here, just a struggling artist and his camera hoping to find pictures worth the gallery spot he’d bought to gain exposure.  
He watched as the guy looked over and zoomed in on the photo over and over, the other having come up behind him. “Keith, relax. It’s just a picture.”  
“It could be-“  
“It isn’t anything but beautiful. I saw a nice scene and you two walked into it and made for a great picture. I’d like to use it for a gallery,” Lance explained away to the older as he gave him a business card as well. Rationality oozed off the older as he looked over the card. He recognized Lance’s name from pictures he’d sold to magazines to use as scenic pieces for ads and other announcements. He paused and took a look at the photo.  
“It is a very nice picture of us, isn’t it, Keith?” His tone was sweet and soothing, trying to convey that there was no harm and no foul. He understood this was just a photographer taking photos. Nothing sinister nor secretive.  
“I,” he hesitated and looked at the picture, then to his companion, sparing a glance at Lance, before returning to the picture. “I suppose it is.”  
“I’d love to get a copy,” the older insisted and Lance beamed. He wanted a copy. He liked the photo. He liked the photo enough to ask that he get a copy to keep for his own. It was recognition, and, however small it may be, it made his heart soar with passion and chest well with pride.  
“Of course! What’s your names, if you don’t mind my asking?”  
“Takashi and Keith Shirogane,” he replied as he ruffled the younger’s ragged mullet, earning him a growl and a swat of a gloved hand. “Your work’s good, at least the few pieces I’ve seen are,” he said, trying to lighten the mood and build some familiarity. “You can use it in your gallery so long as you don’t give our names, and I want a copy.” He bargained with a smile and Lance, used to such requests, was quick to strike a deal with a firm handshake and a quick exchange of information. While the older of the two seemed relaxed and comfortable, the younger stared and shifted from one foot to the other and fussed with his backpack strap as he waited. Keith was his name, younger brother to the older of the pair, Takashi.  
In some idle conversation, Lance found out that Takashi, who went by Shiro, was picking up his younger brother from a skate park where he’d been hanging out waiting for his boyfriend to come pick him up. He’d been stood up in the freezing wind and dark night. When Lance glanced to Keith, Keith avoided his eyes. Said boyfriend was now dead to him, but it was obvious Keith was still hurt by the blatant jackass move. Lance looked at his camera and back to Keith. With a little mustering of courage and steeling of his gut, he spoke up. “You have a really exotic, rough look to you, and I mean that in the highest regard. You are a beautiful specimen, and I’d love to take more pictures of you.” Keith looked at him and crossed his arms. He didn’t like these “compliments.” They felt like insults and empty statements to get something from him. Lance paled and floundered at the cold response. “I, uh, I mean, I, you’re,” Lance groaned internally as he cringed outwardly at his own awkwardness. He never felt like people understood him, so his social skills often lacked because he’d rather talk to his camera than people who didn’t understand what he was trying to say. “Maybe we could meet for coffee and decide on a day to maybe get some more pictures taken that will be more flattering than a dingy street?”  
“What?” Surprise colored Keith’s face. If he didn’t know any better, that would have been some kind of attempt to pick him up. Surely Lance wasn’t trying to flirt. He was just a photographer trying to get a reluctant model to pose for him pretty. Manipulative asshole. “Don’t joke like that, just ask for what you want out of me and be on your way.”  
Lance stuttered and looked at his camera. He’d meant it, and he’d floundered to find the right words. How was he supposed to convey his thoughts now? Deep breath, McClain. You can do this. Just be straightforward. “Keith, I want to meet you for coffee, and I want to take more photos of you. They don’t have to be related events. I just want to do both.” He clenched his teeth and watched as the gears turned in the rebel’s head. He couldn’t have said it any plainer.  
Several deafening seconds consumed and chewed away at Lance’s confidence before Keith finally raked a gloved hand through his mullet and shoved Lance’s camera back into the photographer’s chest and spoke. “If you don’t fuck up coffee, I might let you take more photos of me like this one. Just get my brother his damn picture and buy me a caffeinated drink first.”  
“You got it, Keith,” he all but purred as he shook the black haired, purple eyed beauty’s fingerless-gloved hand. He had this. This guy made for the perfect model, and for a perfect attempt at a boyfriend; whichever came first….


End file.
